Sands of Time: Beginnings
by DinaLori
Summary: Paris 1997. An ancient evil is stalking Duncan MacLeod, and he must reach out to a former friend for help. Can Bobby Singer help him before tragedy strikes? A rewrite of the Ahriman arc from Highlander seasons five and six. Prequel to "Die Another Day."
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: This is all SlvrCld's fault. Until they asked in a review of my other crossover story, "Die Another Day," if Bobby's demon knowledge helped with the Ahriman situation on Highlander I'd never even considered putting him into those episodes. But once that idea got planted it turned into a mutant killer plot bunny (picture the killer rabbit from _Money Python and the Holy Grail)_ that would not let go until I wrote this.

This story also kicks off a series of fics I _had _been planning that will follow Bobby in his Immortal adventures through time. Some will be pre-series for SPN, some will be showing what he was doing off camera during an episode, and (apparently) some will insert him into an episode of Highlander.

My thanks to dnachemlia for the beta.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing associated with Supernatural, Highlander or Deadwood. This story is offered up out of pure love for the shows and the phenomenal talent of Jim Beaver.

**Sands of Time: Paris 1997**

Part I: Beginnings

oooOOOooo

Sioux Falls, South Dakota May 17, 1997

Bobby Singer was tired. No, not tired, he was beyond tired. Beyond anything for which the human language had a word. He briefly wondered if it were possible for an Immortal to die from exhaustion. In the hundred and seventy-five years he'd been alive he'd had a lot of experiences that pushed his physical and mental limits: a cave-in while working the Comstock mines in the 1860's; the bombing of London during World War II; trying to stay one step ahead of a clan of Ondines aboard a Japanese freighter in his early days as a hunter. But staying awake for fifty-three...no, Bobby checked the clock, it was now fifty-four hours, while researching what kind of creature would leave corpses littered around playgrounds and preschools probably topped them all.

_Damn that John Winchester!_ he thought. John had called him a couple of days ago about the hunt he was working knowing full well that Bobby wouldn't turn him down. Not with a case like this. So now Bobby was doing what he always did: acting as a human computer. Taking in data, accessing stored information then spitting out the answer.

Blinking back sleep he poured out a handful of caffeine pills and swallowed them with a mug of hot, dark liquid that could only loosely be called coffee. _Good thing I can't OD_. It was days like this he wished he still had a partner. Somebody to share the burden of research. Somebody to commiserate with. Somebody who could help him not feel all alone in the world. But that was a comfort he would never allow himself to have again. Not after his horrific mistake in Omaha. He was still amazed Rufus, though mortal, hadn't taken his head himself after what he'd done. And a small part of Bobby still believed he would have let him do it.

Reaching for another text he let out a string of curses as his elbow bumped a stack of careful prepared notes, scattering them to the floor. As he knelt down to gather the mass of papers his eye caught a glimmer of light peek out from beneath his desk. With reverent hands he reached in and retrieved the item from its hiding place. This was his only partner now. This was his constant companion for the past one hundred and fourteen years and, God willing, would be so for many more years to come. His sword. An eighteenth century boarding saber, with its wide, flat blade short enough to conceal within modern clothing; the brass bellguard now dented from the many blows it delivered in the heat of battle. This simple piece of steel and brass was only true friend he had left in the world.

_"Take good care of it, make it part of you. It may be the only friend you have."_

Bobby smiled sadly as the words spoken when he received the blade, now grasped in his hands, repeated in his mind. Duncan MacLeod had once been one of his closest friends. He was the second Immortal Bobby had ever met (the first being Duncan's older kinsman Connor), and had been the one who made the greatest impact on his new Immortal life. He'd been Bobby's friend, mentor and brother for nearly a century. Until that terrible day when life as he'd known it had shattered into a million pieces. The day Bobby's eyes had been opened to the reality of the horrors that stalked the world. The day he was forced to kill his demon possessed wife.

He'd tried to talk to Duncan about it afterward, to tell him what was really going on, but the older man refused to believe that anything supernatural happened. At first he insisted that something had simply caused Bobby's wife Karen to go insane: a brain tumor, toxin or some kind of chemical imbalance. Then later, as Bobby began talking more and more about demons and monsters, he began questioning Bobby's own mental stability. More than once Bobby thought he might challenge him, thinking his friend had lost his mind. Over and over they argued. They must have gone a hundred and ten rounds before they both gave up and parted company.

Bobby winced as he realized he was gripping the sword so tightly the blade was digging into his palm. He watched as tiny blue arcs danced across his skin, closing up the wound. Once upon a time he'd been fascinated by Immortal healing; he'd even intentionally cut himself just to watch the miniature lightning bolts play over his flesh. But now it only served to emphasize his aloneness. There was no-one he could talk to who'd really understand. Rufus had known about him, having witnessed him come back to life many times over the course of their friendship, but Rufus was out of his life now. He could call James, who was the only other Immortal hunter he knew, but the two of them had never really been close. They didn't share the same bond he'd had with Rufus. And James wasn't a brother to him the way MacLeod had been.

_Stop wallowing and pull yourself together,_ he chastised himself. _John'll be calling soon to ask what_ _you've come up with. _With a sigh he pushed himself off the floor and, after returning his saber to its place beneath his desk, turned his attention back to the job at hand. He glanced at the clock, noting that he had about half an hour until John would call again to pester him to hurry up. _Like I need reminding._ While any gruesome death would be enough to attract the attention of hunters, when children were involved everyone made an extra effort. It was just one of those unwritten codes hunters lived by: children were to be protected at all costs.

He'd just managed to find the relevant passage when the phone went off a full twenty minutes early. Letting out a roar of frustration he picked it up. "Damn it John, I told you _I'd_ call _you_ once I got this sussed out!"

There was a long pause, then the caller spoke in a British-sounding accent, _"Ellsworth?"_

Bobby blinked in surprise, trying to place the voice. Only a few people called him by the name he'd been known by in his first life, and even fewer of those were still talking to him. "MacLeod?" he asked at last. "That you?" _Why in the world would he be calling now?_ he wondered. _We haven't spoken in over a decade._

_"Yeah."_ Duncan's voice brought Bobby out of his musings. _"Listen Ellsworth, I'm sorry about the time, but you know I wouldn't call this early if it wasn't important."_

"It's Bobby now, Mac," Bobby said. "And it's ok. I was up already anyway. Trying to figure out what's been leaving a bunch of corpses layin' around."He mentally cursed himself for mentioning the hunt.

A new voice suddenly came through the phone. _"Whoa, whoa! Dude, what was that!"_

"Who's that?" Bobby asked, alarmed that he'd spoken in front of someone without knowing it.

_"That's Richie, he's a friend,"_ MacLeod answered. _"Sorry, I should have told you I had you on speaker."_

_"Uh...Hi. How's it going?"_ Richie said somewhat haltingly. Clearly an American, Bobby thought he sounded young, but then if he was one of their kind sounding young didn't really mean much.

"Nice to meet ya," Bobby replied, then realized he had to do some damage control. "Sorry if what I said startled you. Horror stories are kinda a hobby of mine." He hoped the kid would buy his bluff.

_"Actually,"_ Duncan hesitantly began. _"Your 'hobby' is exactly what I wanted to talk about."_

"Oh?" Bobby grimaced. _Guess it's time for round one hundred eleven_, he thought. "You called me at six AM just to bust my chops about hunting again?"

_"Not exactly."_ There was a long pause, and Bobby began to wonder if the call had been cut off. Then finally Duncan's voice came through quietly. _"I think I need your help."_

Bobby straightened in his seat, frowning. "Help with what?" he asked, wondering where this conversation was going.

Duncan sighed heavily, then quickly blurted out. _"I think a Zoroastrian demon is after me."_

Bobby was silent for a long time, unsure if he heard the Highlander correctly. "Come again?" he finally said.

_"I know it sounds crazy, but I swear it's true."_ Duncan sounded wearier, more distraught than Bobby had ever heard before.

"Well, crazy's part of my job description. Got a lot of experience with it," he joked, trying to lighten the mood a bit and put his old friend at ease. "Why don't you start at the beginning and tell me what's going on."

_"It all began about two days ago."_ Duncan spoke very softly, as though he were embarrassed to be saying this out loud. _"When Richie and I were coming back from the opera there was an old man waiting for me at my barge on the Seine. He started babbling about the millennium and said that 'he' was coming and that I was the only one who could stop him."_

"Sounds like the guy was just a nut job."

_"I thought so too at first,"_ Duncan agreed. _"But then... I saw Horton..."_

Bobby frowned, trying to remember the name. "Horton?"

_"James Horton,"_ Duncan explained. _"He'd tried several times to kill me over the past few years. I finally managed to get rid of him in ninety-four."_

"So you took his head?" If MacLeod was seeing a dead Immortal walking around that sounded more like a haunting than a demon problem.

_"No, Horton was a mortal."_

Bobby's frown deepened. "Wait. You said this guy was trying to kill you. If he was mortal...how could he..."

Duncan blew out a long breath. _"It's a long story."_

"I ain't going anywhere."

_"Well, the 'Reader's Digest' version is ...there's a society of mortals who know about us called Watchers,"_ Duncan said. _"They're...historians I guess would be the right word. Most of them just want to know about the history of Immortals, our lives and what we do, but a few of them decided that all of us are evil and need to be destroyed. Horton was one of them."_

"Let me get this straight." Bobby moved past confusion and into anger now. "You knew that a bunch of mortals were hunting our kind and didn't think to give me a heads up? Thanks buddy, glad to know you still care," he said sarcastically.

_"Bobby...I'm sorry,"_ MacLeod apologized. _"You're right I...I should have told you, but we didn't part on the best of terms and I wasn't sure you'd take my call."_

"Well, for future reference: no matter how pissed I am at you I'll always take a call that starts with 'I think someone is gonna try and kill you,'" Bobby said, trying to keep the venom out of his voice but failing.

Duncan went quiet again, then softly replied. _"I'll understand if you don't want to help me."_

Bobby rubbed his temples, barely believing the conversation he was having. "I didn't say I wouldn't help. I just...oh, forget it." He cleared his throat and switched topics. Now was not the time for an argument. "So, some old guy warned you that someone was coming for you and then you saw a man you'd killed."

_"Right. I chased after Horton but he disappeared in the fog. When I got back to the barge I found the old man dead. He'd been strangled; I clearly saw the marks on his neck." _Duncan was speaking faster now, his voice sounding more confident. _"But when I went to the morgue the next day the coroner said it was a stroke. That there were no marks on him at all."_

"Did you ask to see the body?" Bobby asked. "Sometimes doctors list an ordinary cause of death when they find something they can't explain." He wondered how many dog/bear/whatever-animal- they-could-think-of attacks he'd seen mentioned in official reports when the real cause turned out to be the monster du jour.

_"I did, but it'd been claimed by the family and cremated by then. I asked for an address where I could pay my respects and while the coroner was getting it..."_ He broke off mid-sentence and was silent a moment before continuing. _"I went to see his granddaughter later-"_

"Hold on," Bobby interrupted, his hunter instincts telling him there was more to the story. "Back up a sec, did something else happen at the morgue?"

Duncan said nothing, and the line was quiet until Richie broke the silence. _"Mac? Did something happen you didn't tell me?"_

_"It's crazy."_ he whispered.

"I thought we already established that crazy's acceptable in this conversation." Bobby knew that not getting the whole picture up front could dramatically alter the outcome. "I don't care if it's the weirdest thing you can imagine, if you want my help, you tell me everything and I'll believe you. If you say you saw a bunch of penguins tap dancing down the Champs-Elysees, I'll take your word for it." The sound of snickering coming from the phone told Bobby he'd made his point.

_"While the coroner was... getting the address..."_ Duncan was once again hesitating, as if it were a struggle to say each word. _"There was... a body on the table. I thought...I could have sworn..."_

"Sworn what, Mac?" Bobby gently pressed.

_"It turned its head,"_ MacLeod said at last. "_It looked right at me and its eyes...Bobby, I swear to you its eyes were glowing red."_

Bobby stood abruptly and swore. He doubted MacLeod could have known about demonic signs like a change in eye color. "You sure they turned red, not black?"

_"Yes, I'm sure. Why?"_

"Never mind for now," Bobby said. "Go on with your story. And MacLeod? Don't leave nothing out this time."

_"Right. The old man's name was Landry. Jason Landry. He was an archeologist and author-"_

"Landry?" Bobby interrupted. "Wait, the author of 'Mythology of Heroes' and 'Secrets of the Idol'?"

_"You've heard of him?"_ Duncan asked.

"Oh yeah, I've heard of him." Right up there with Joseph Campbell, Jason Landry was a world renowned mythologist and expert in ancient religions. But more than that, every hunter worth his salt knew that Landry was a believer. He knew the truth about what was going on in the 'good vs. evil' arena and did what he could to tip the scales in their favor, including consulting with hunters. If you had a problem relating to ancient Persia, Egypt or India, Landry's works were the first place you checked. If the old man was involved in this, it just got a whole lot bigger. "What happened next?"

_"I went to see Landry's granddaughter Allison. She told me that he was obsessed with finding information about how to defeat some kind of evil that was coming. Finding a champion."_

"And you think you're the one he was looking for?"

_"Landry did. He said it to me at the barge just before he died and I saw it written in his journal. It said 'The next warrior-MacLeod.' And he wasn't the first."_ Duncan stopped speaking for a moment, and Bobby thought he heard him taking a drink. _With all he's going through I certainly don't blame him,_ he thought.

"_Two different people have said I would defeat a great evil."_ Duncan began again. _"Cassandra, a woman, an Immortal I know said there was an ancient prophecy about me."_

"You wouldn't happen to know exactly what the prophecy said?" Bobby asked, picking up a pen.

Duncan recited from memory. _"'An evil one will come, to vanquish all before him. Only a Highland child, born on the Winter Solstice, who has seen both darkness and light can stop him.'"_

"Ok, I guess that could be you," Bobby admitted, writing down the words to research later. "But it could apply to a lot of other people too. And what was that 'darkness and light' part about?"

Once again Duncan fell silent, and Bobby had a sickening feeling that whatever was said next, it wouldn't be good. _"Mac took a Dark Quickening last year,"_ Richie said at last. _"He... he kinda got lost for a while. It made him do some really awful things,"_ he added softly.

The sick feeling Bobby had before grew to such an extent that he had to clamp his hand over his mouth and take several deep breaths. The Dark Quickening was a legend, sort of the Immortal version of possession, where a good Immortal, having taken the head of an evil one of their kind, became overpowered by their personality and turned evil themselves. It was something Bobby had feared before, but even more so after what happened with Karen. To have control of his actions ripped away and to be forced to do horrible things was the worst thing he could imagine. Even worse than death.

"Mac?" Bobby said once he found his voice. "How'd you get free?" He needed to know. If the DQ was true he needed to know how to fight it, just like he needed to know how to fight every other supernatural evil he found.

_"A holy spring."_ Duncan's voice was barely a whisper now. _"A friend of ours knew where to find it. I had to...fight the evil part of myself there and defeat it."_

All three of them were quiet, reliving the horrors of their past. For Duncan and Richie it was their memories of that terrible time last year. For Bobby, it was Karen's possession.

"Glad you came back to us," Bobby said at last. "Mac, whatever you did while under the influence, it wasn't really you doing it. You get that, right?" Having dealt with possession victims as a hunter, he understood the guilt and shame Mac would be feeling.

_"I know. But it doesn't make it easier."_

"No, it don't." Glancing over the notes he'd been taking Bobby knew he had to get them all back on track. "You said two people told you you'd be fighting evil. Who was the second?"

_"An old hermit back in the Highlands. It was a few years after I became Immortal, before Connor found me. I met this old man in the woods, another Immortal. I thought he was mad, but he prophesized that I would have to face an evil beyond imagination that comes every thousand years."_

"The millennium," Bobby whispered, remembering Landry's words.

_"Yeah. He claimed that he'd been the one to defeat it years before, and that I would be the next. He..."_ Duncan stopped and took a breath before continuing. _"He took his own head with my sword."_

"He what!" Bobby exclaimed.

_"He took his head with my sword,"_ he repeated. "_He gave me my first quickening. I don't know why, maybe to make me stronger? Whatever the reason, Bobby that's three people now who thought that I'm destined to fight ...some great evil."_

Bobby sat in silence as the mulled over everything Duncan and Richie'd just told him. _Great, you're still working on one tough hunt when something even bigger comes along,_ he thought. _Story of my life_. "That everything?" he asked. "Can you think of anything else that you haven't mentioned?"

_"No, not that I can remember,"_ Duncan replied, then quietly asked, _"Am I going crazy?"_

Bobby took a deep breath, wondering if his old mentor was ready for this. "No. You're not."

_"Just like that?"_ he laughed. _"You're not even questioning it, you just 'know' I'm not?"_

"Duncan, everything you just told me makes sense." Bobby knew he had to get the man to accept not just what was happening to him now, but also the realities he faced in his own life. "Landry was a resource for hunters. He knew about what we do and helped us. If that were the only part of your story that sounded credible I'd believe you, but what you said about the corpse's eyes also fit."

"_What do you mean?"_ Duncan asked.

_"Yeah,"_ Richie spoke up. _"You questioned Mac about the color. Is there something important about that?"_

"When a demon possesses someone their eyes will change color. Usually they turn solid black, but sometimes they turn red. But those are usually associated with a crossroads demon."

_"Crossroads demon?"_ Duncan asked.

"Sort of a demonic broker. They handle Faustian pacts," he explained. "You know: money, fame, power. Whatever you want in exchange for your soul."

_"Get outta here, those things can happen?"_ Richie asked.

"Kid, you'd be amazed at what's really real in the world," Bobby said to Richie. "Mac, There were several points in your story that matched things I've hunted, but I've never seen them all together like that before. Demons can possess dead bodies, so that could explain what happened to you in the morgue. It could have also been a revenant, but then that wouldn't explain the eyes. Then there's the ghost of that guy Horton you saw."

_"And Kronos,"_ Duncan said.

"Who's Kronos?" Bobby asked.

_"Kronos!"_ Richie yelled. _"You saw Kronos! When?"_ If Richie's reaction was anything to go by, Bobby decided, seeing whoever this Kronos was wasn't a good thing.

_"In the barge, shortly before I went to see Allison. I saw him, but I didn't sense him, so I know he couldn't have been real. But…but he was real!"_

"Ok, so two ghosts then. One mortal, one Immortal?" Bobby scratched his head trying to put the puzzle together. _Computer, access data file: Ghosts_, he joked to himself as he considered all the possibilities. "There are ways to summon spirits and certain necromantic rituals that could be performed to control them. There are ways to summon demons too, if this thing itself isn't a demon."

_"I thought you said you believed me."_ Duncan sounded worried, and Bobby understood that he needed to reassure the older Immortal he wasn't doubting him.

"I believe something supernatural is happening to you, but it may or may not be a demon as I know it." Bobby paused and tried to find a way to explain his twenty years of experience. "It's a matter of cultural perspective: what one culture calls a demon another might call an evil spirit or even a God. And creating illusions of dead people walking, corpses reanimating, killing people in mysterious ways... that sounds more like a Pagan God to me, like a trickster maybe." He paused, then shuddered slightly at the other possibility. "Or it's an upper level demon. A seriously powerful one."

He rubbed his eyes and winced at the gritty feel beneath his eyelids. "Listen, I gotta finish up this research for another hunter, then I really need to sleep. Can I call you back sometime tomorrow and we'll see what we can come up with then?"

_"Yeah, all right."_ Duncan sounded a little disappointed that he couldn't answer all his questions right away. _"I really appreciate the help. Most of all I...I appreciate being able to talk to someone about this."_

"Yeah, I know how you feel. We'll figure this out, Mac. I promise." Bobby felt for his friend. Facing the supernatural was never easy, but to go from complete skeptic to new believer in one step? Bobby'd been there twenty years ago and he wouldn't wish that on anyone. "Listen, you watch yourself, the both of you. Whatever this thing is, it's trouble."

_"We will. And Bobby? Thanks."_

"_Thanks, man," _Richie said moments before the line clicked off.

Bobby hung up the phone and laid his head down on the desk. _Why can't things ever go easy?_ he wondered. He took a deep breath and sat up, knowing that John's case had to take precedence right now. So far what was happening in Paris had only claimed one life, while the bodies were piling up for John. Besides, he was nearly done with his research. Five minutes later when the phone rang again he was ready for it.

"John? You're hunting an Aswang..."

oooOOOooo

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** This story was originally supposed to be three chapters long, one for each episode of the Ahriman arc. But, as usual, the characters have been talking my ear off and it got away from me. So as it stands now... I've got no clue how long this is going to take. Joe has some definite ideas about what it takes to watch a hunter, Bobby and Duncan never shut up, Richie is very insistent about what should happen to _him_ and don't even get me started on Methos! *sigh* Yet again, I am the victim of the mutant killer plot bunny that wouldn't die.

**To Liliaeth:** I didn't have Duncan call the rogue Watchers 'hunters' because, to the best of my knowledge, the characters within the show never called them that. Yes, the episode that introduced them was called "The Hunters," but I've been re-watching the series lately and they've always been referred to as either rogue or renegade Watchers rather than hunters. It's like "the buzz." The term was/is used by fans and even the cast and crew, but it never appears in a single episode.

Many, many thanks to dnachemlia for the beta and encouraging words.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing associated with Supernatural, Highlander or Deadwood. This story is offered up out of pure love for the shows and in admiration of the phenomenal talents of the casts and crews.

Since "Beginnings" is basically a retelling of the episode "Archangel" written by David Tynan, some of the dialog will be either slightly adapted from or taken straight from the episode. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

><p>oooOOOooo<p>

May 18, 1997 Paris, France

There are many things Paris is famous for: the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, Notre Dame. But Duncan MacLeod somehow doubted "City of Demons" would ever make its way onto a postcard. Dropping Jason Landry's journal on the table, he sighed wearily as he leaned back against the cushions of the sofa.

After they'd hung up on Bobby Singer he and Richie had spent hours poring over the journal and talking about everything Bobby had told them. While the younger Immortal was more than willing to accept the reality of the supernatural, Duncan was still having problems with it. He had been born into a world where witchcraft and demons were thought to be at work in every misfortune or unexplainable event. He thought he'd left that world behind when he moved into the enlightened age where science and logic could explain away strange occurrences, but now he was right back where he started: believing in demons and magic.

"I still have no idea what I'm up against," Mac said, bringing one hand up to massage his throbbing temple.

"I think what you mean is 'What _we're_ up against,'" Richie stated firmly as he turned in his seat to face MacLeod.

"No, according to Landry it's coming for me."

"Yeah, well, I'm not going anywhere." Before he had a chance to protest Richie continued. "Mac, I might not be an expert in demonology or whatever like Singer is, but there's gotta be something I can do to help. If our roles were reversed I know you wouldn't leave me hanging." He laid a hand on the Scot's shoulder. "Whatever it is you're facing, I'll be right there with you."

Duncan looked at him and smiled, remembering the young street punk he and Tessa had taken in almost five years ago. The two of them had been through so much since then. After Tessa's death, looking after the newly Immortal Richie had been his anchor, keeping him from getting lost in his grief. They transitioned into an almost father-son relationship, where Duncan was Richie's guardian and guide in this new, strange world he was thrust into. Later, after the trust had been destroyed and rebuilt following Duncan's Dark Quickening that relationship transformed once again. Matured. They were now equals. They were now brothers.

"Thanks, Richie," he said, grasping the other man's shoulder mirroring his gesture. "Thanks."

oooOOOooo

Afternoon turned to evening, and as the light faded from the sky casting the world into shadow the two Immortals were more and more reluctant to leave each other's company. They'd left the barge only briefly to pick up dinner and immediately rushed back, constantly looking over their shoulders as if expecting an attack. But none came. They ate in relative silence, each lost in his own thoughts. It was only after the food had been eaten and the dishes washed and put away that the conversation began again.

"So," Mac hesitantly began. "Interesting day."

Richie gave him a startled look, and then laughed. "That's certainly one way of putting it."

oooOOOooo

"You know Mac? Of all the things I miss about living with you, sleeping on the couch isn't one of them," Richie said as he prepared his makeshift bed.

The younger man had opted to spend the night on MacLeod's couch rather than make the drive back to his apartment. Though whether it was because he didn't feel comfortable being alone as he'd claimed, or because Richie was worried about MacLeod of which neither was sure. In truth, Duncan was glad to have the company. Having someone with him, especially someone who believed he wasn't losing his mind, made him feel almost normal again.

Duncan threw Richie a pillow as he made his way to the kitchen area. "Well you could always go home."

"Oh, yeah, right," Richie said sarcastically. "Do you remember the phone call with Singer earlier? 'Cause I sure do, and the words 'demon,' 'ghost,' and 'necromancy' came through loud and clear. Now I don't know about you, but I've seen enough horror movies to know that when weird crap starts happening you do not split up. It's like a rule or something." He dropped onto the sofa and, accepting a beer from MacLeod, continued. "Anyway, he warned us to be careful 'cause he thinks this thing is dangerous." He paused a moment, thinking about the last words the self-proclaimed 'demon hunter' said to them. "Mac, this guy hunts monsters for a living and even he sounded pretty freaked."

"Yeah, I know." Duncan set his own bottle down and thought about the call. Ellsworth-_Bobby,_ he reminded himself-had believed him without question. Had just taken what he said at face value, and more than that, had even managed to give him some answers. His mind flashed back almost fifteen years, to the last time they'd spoken. That time it had been Bobby who was spouting off about demons and asking his friend to believe him. But instead MacLeod had accused him of being crazy. Worse, he'd blamed Bobby for the death of his wife and refused to listen to what he was trying to tell him. He wouldn't listen to the man who was 'helping' Bobby (Rufus, he thought his name was), wouldn't look at any of the evidence Bobby tried to show him and turned his back on a friendship of nearly a century.

"Hello-o? Earth to MacLeod." Richie's voice cut into his thoughts. "Still with me man?"

"Yeah," Duncan said, snapping back to the present. "Yeah, I was just thinking."

Richie took a drink and nodded, not realizing the reason for MacLeod's shift in mood. "I don't blame you. That was...I mean, ever since I learned about Immortals I've been wondering what else is out there. But to have someone confirm that there's all this stuff going on right under our noses is just..."

"I know. I'm starting to wonder about that tabloid story you mentioned." Seeing Richie's puzzled look he explained. "Last year just before...before we met Coltec you were telling me about a tabloid article that claimed to have proof that werewolves exist. Well, now I'm starting to wonder if maybe they do."

"Maybe all the weird stuff in the supermarket rags is true. I mean, we're real. And where else would you expect to read about guys who live forever unless you chop off their heads except in tabloids?" Richie shook his head. "What do you think Mac? Werewolves, vampires, aliens? You think they could all be real?"

_Now there's an interesting thought. I wonder if it's possible to buy insurance against a werewolf attack?_ Duncan laughed to himself. He was about to mention it to Richie when the phone rang. "Hello?"

"MacLeod? It's me." The urgent tone in Bobby Singer's voice stifled Duncan's earlier amusement.

"Bobby? Did you find something out?" At the mention of Bobby's name Richie stood and moved toward Duncan, listening intently to his half of the conversation.

"Oh I found something all right." Bobby paused, and for a long moment all the Highlander could hear was Bobby's ragged breathing. "I... I don't wanna say right now. Not until after I've had a look at Landry's journal. You've still got it, right?"

"Yeah, it's right here." MacLeod glanced over at the desk where the journal, as well as his own notebook of half-formed thoughts and theories, were laying open. "Do you want me to send it to you?" While Duncan was reluctant to let the journal out of his possession, if it would give him the answers he needed he was willing to do it.

"Don't bother. I'm gonna be on the next flight outta Sioux Falls. I should arrive in Paris around eleven tomorrow morning."

"What happened to doing research for that other hunter and then getting some sleep?"

"The hunt's over and it's nine hours from my connecting flight in Minneapolis to Paris. I'll sleep on the plane." As the hunter was speaking MacLeod could hear him hurriedly packing.

"Bobby?" MacLeod asked, his anxiety level rising. "What's going on? Why are you in such a hurry to get here?"

Richie interrupted. "Something's wrong, isn't it Mac?"

Hearing Richie's voice come over the line Bobby asked. "Is that the young pup from earlier?"

"Yeah. The 'pup' is spending the night." Duncan grinned at Singer's nickname for Richie, then nearly laughed out loud at the young man's reaction to it. "After our call he and I went over Landry's journal some more and... well, neither of us is too anxious to be alone right now."

"Understandable. Well... that's good that you're sticking together; you can watch each other's backs. Plus it's good to have someone else around to reassure you you're not going crazy."

"I'm glad you agree," Duncan sighed in relief. "I was afraid it made me sound like a five-year-old scared of the monster in the closet."

"Hey, I slept with the lights on for a couple' a months after I saw my first demon," Bobby admitted. "Not that that really does anything except run up your electric bill, but it made me feel better." He cleared his throat and continued. "Look, I'm still not too clear on exactly what you're dealing with, so I'm not sure what we'll need to fight this thing. I'll bring as much as I can with me, but there are a few basic supplies you can start to gather until I get there."

"What kind of supplies?" Mac held up a hand to silence Richie, who looked as if he were about to speak up again and grabbed a pad and pencil. As Bobby listed what he needed MacLeod wrote each one down, his brow furrowing deeper with each new line.

Looking over Mac's shoulder at the list Richie blinked in surprise. "He's kidding, right? What does he need all that stuff for?"

Bobby continued as if he hadn't heard Richie's question. "All right, I gotta get going if I'm going to make my flight. And Mac?" Once again Bobby's voice conveyed the seriousness of the situation. "Demons are evil, manipulative sons-of-bitches. Twenty years ago one tricked me into killing someone I loved. Last thing I want is for you to go through what I did. You watch your back. Richie's too."

MacLeod took a deep breath and pushed aside mental images of one of his friends lying dead by his hand. "We'll be careful, Bobby. One of us will pick you up from the airport tomorrow."

Hanging up the phone, Duncan turned to Richie and held up the sheet of paper he'd written on. "Which do you want to do: airport pickup or shopping?"

"I'll go shopping. Singer's your friend and I'm sure you two have stuff to talk about." Richie grabbed the list from MacLeod's hand and looked it over again. "Ok, the wooden stakes and rosaries I get, but what does he want with an iron chain and ten pounds of salt?"

oooOOOooo

Duncan rolled over and groaned at seeing the three AM illuminated on the bedside clock. He readjusted his pillows and attempted to get back to sleep. Or rather, to get to sleep in the first place. Over and over he played back the events of the last few days in his mind, searching for a reasonable answer. But as far as he could tell there were only two options: either he was going crazy or there really was a demon after him. And honestly? He didn't know which prospect scared him more.

The sound of light snoring told him that Richie wasn't wrestling with their predicament the same way he was. But then, Richie had always been able to adapt to any situation, no matter how bizarre. He had to admit he was envious of the young man's acceptance of this new strange turn of events. Perhaps if he'd had that ability he wouldn't have wasted the last fifteen years being estranged from his old friend. _Is this what Bobby went through?_ he wondered. _Felt like his sanity was slipping away? Like he was falling deeper and deeper into a pit from which there was no escape?_ He had rejected Bobby when he kept insisting a demon had possessed his wife, it was only a matter of time before his friends rejected him. Joe and Methos were already questioning his behavior. Would Richie be next? Would Bobby arrive in Paris, only to leave again, telling him he'd been wrong and that everything Mac had been seeing was in his head?

_Alone. They're all going to leave you. You're going to be all alone._

_Stop it!_ he shouted in his mind_. If you keep thinking like this you'll get to sleep._ Blowing out a long breath he pulled the covers up over his head and eventually drifted off into an uneasy slumber.

oooOOOooo

"Most religions have some version of the savior myth," Methos said as he, Joe Dawson and Richie walked through the park. "Demons are sent to destroy the world, and a champion comes to protect it."

"That is exactly what it says in the journal." After leaving the barge that morning Richie called his two friends to tell them about what Bobby had said and to try to get them to help out, but so far the conversation wasn't going as he'd hoped it would.

"But millennium theory is nothing new, Richie," Methos continued. "Every thousand years I hear these same stories. I don't know. I have never seen a demon."

Joe snorted. "A Zoroastrian demon."

"How do you know you haven't?" Richie countered. "Maybe you just didn't recognize what you were seeing." He was growing tired of arguing with them. _Why are they finding this so hard to believe?_ he wondered. "Look, what if all this is real? What if this is why Immortals are here, to fight these things? You believe in Immortals, Dark Quickenings and Holy Springs, why you can't believe in this?"

"So, let me get this straight," Joe said, failing to keep the skepticism out of his voice. "There have been demons running around for thousands of years and nobody's noticed them? Not Immortals, not Watchers. Nobody?"

Richie tried to make them see the logic in what he was saying. "Immortals have been around for thousands of years, and most of the world hasn't noticed us. Only Watchers and the few mortals that discovered the secret know about us, so why not?" He sighed in frustration. "You guys have another explanation for what's been going on?"

"What's going on is that Duncan MacLeod's losing it." Joe insisted.

"Not according to the expert we talked to yesterday." Richie tried again. "He said that just about everything Mac's been seeing has a valid supernatural explanation and he's seen it happen."

"Expert?" Methos scoffed. "What expert? Madame Zorina the Tarot card reader?"

"Oh, man." Stopping dead in his tracks Dawson exclaimed. "Please tell me he didn't call that crackpot in South Dakota."

"If you're talking about Bobby Singer, then yeah, Mac called him yesterday and Bobby called back last night to say he was on his way to Paris. Joe, he's not a crackpot," Richie said. "You didn't hear him. It was amazing, he was able to recite all kinds of stuff off the top of his head. The guy's like a walking encyclopedia of the supernatural."

"Yeah, and I know a guy who can give you a complete breakdown of every Star Trek episode ever aired. Including stardates. But that doesn't make any of it true." Joe put his hand on Richie's shoulder and turned the young man to face him. "Listen, Ellsworth, or Singer or whatever he wants to call himself is several cards shy of a full deck. Richie, the guy burns through more Watchers in a decade than most Immortals do in a century."

"What's that supposed to prove?" the younger Immortal asked.

It was Methos who answered him. "It proves that people who have been trained to observe Immortals under the worst possible conditions can't tolerate being around him for very long. Watcher training isn't easy, Richie. And if they can't last more than a year or two with him, you have to ask yourself why." At Richie's defiant look he sighed. "Ok, we'll talk to the granddaughter. See what she has to say."

"You guys talk to her," Richie snapped. "I've got stuff to do." With that he stalked off leaving Joe and Methos behind to wonder what was happening to their friends.

oooOOOooo

* * *

><p>TBC…<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

The moment Bobby set foot in the airport he sensed it: the presence of another Immortal. His heartbeat quickened and he experienced a moment of panic as he remembered his sword was checked with the rest of his luggage. This was the main reason he usually chose to drive rather than fly whenever possible, the vulnerability of being caught without a weapon. He tightened his grip on the cane in his hand and forced himself to relax. A custom job, made of cold forged iron with a silver handle, the cane was what he carried when unable to keep his blade with him. It might not take anyone's head, but it was sturdy enough to block a sword blow and keep his own head in place. Besides, MacLeod had promised that either he or Richie would be meeting his plane, so as he scanned the crowd of people waiting for their loved ones to disembark, he hoped to catch a glimpse of a friendly face. Within moments his hope was answered.

"Bobby!" MacLeod called out. "Over here."

Bobby started to smile, but then his face fell as he got a good look at his old friend. "Well, you look like crap," he said, grasping the Scotsman's hand and pulling him into a one armed hug.

Raising a single eyebrow Mac huffed a short laugh. "Gee, thanks. It's good to see you too."

"Yeah, yeah. You know what I meant. When was the last time you got any sleep?"

"I slept fine last night," he protested, then at the skeptical look Bobby gave him admitted. "Well... for a few hours anyway."

"Uh-huh." Bobby studied the other man as they made their way to the baggage claim. MacLeod looked pale, with dark circles giving his eyes a sunken appearance. His long hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail from which several strands had escaped. "So what was it that disturbed your beauty sleep?" he asked. "Were you just thinking, or did... something else happen?"

He saw Mac's jaw clench a few times. "Nothing happened. It's just... My friends... they think I'm losing it." Taking a deep breath Duncan smiled sadly as he turned to face his old student. "Even I'm not so sure that I'm not."

"You're not," Bobby stated emphatically. He'd been afraid of this. MacLeod had been too calm, too in control when they spoke earlier on the phone. Pulling the Highlander over to a secluded area he grasped the man's shoulders and shook him gently. "You listen to me, 'Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod.' You are not crazy. I know exactly what you're going through... I've been there, remember?" At MacLeod's nod he continued. "Now... I ain't completely sure what this is yet, but I'm gonna find out. And then _we_ are gonna take care of it. _Together_. You hear me?"

Bobby saw several emotions play across the older Immortal's face before he finally closed his eyes, nodded and gave a whispered. "Thank you."

oooOOOooo

"You really think you're going to need all this?" Mac asked, as they loaded the several suitcases and boxes Bobby had brought with him into the rented truck.

"Better safe than sorry," Bobby replied. "I'd rather have too much with me than somebody end up dead because the one book, talisman or... whatever we needed was back in Sioux Falls."

Mac grimaced as he slid the last box into the truck bed, his mind's eye once more assaulted with images of blood and death. "Point taken."

MacLeod had loaned his car to Richie so the younger man could obtain the list of items Bobby requested the night before, so while Mac navigated the streets of Paris heading toward his barge, Bobby sat silently in the passenger seat and mentally reviewed the details of the hunt. He did his best to ignore the fact that this was his friend and mentor, rather than some random stranger, that needed his help this time, but that task was proving impossible. The harder he tried to concentrate on the job, the more his mind wandered, showing him scenes from their past: being introduced to him by Connor in 1882; traveling the world together; Mac acting as best man for two of his weddings, then years later standing by his side as each of those brides were laid to rest. For almost a century they'd been in and out of each other's lives, reuniting a few times a year at least. Bobby felt the weight of this hunt more intensely than any other he could remember.

_You've already lost one friend due to your failure as a hunter,_ a voice at the back of his mind told him. _Now you're going to lose another._

He shook off the tendril of fear that threatened to encircle his heart. _Not this time,_ he told the voice. _This time there'll be no mistakes._

oooOOOooo

This was a very weird day.

Sliding into the driver's seat of MacLeod's 68' Citroen Richie Ryan banged his head against the steering wheel a few times in frustration. He'd thought the shopping trip would be easy- a few crucifixes, some holy water, maybe a bible. That's what they always use against demons in movies, right? Even some of the things he didn't expect, like the salt and iron chain, were easy enough to find. But Witch Grass? Holy Thistle? Dragon's Blood? He'd had to go to three different stores before finally finding what he needed in one of those New Age herb shops.

And he really didn't want to know what they needed the graveyard dirt for.

Glancing at his watch he noted that Singer's plane had landed a short time ago. He and Mac were probably together by now, talking about the good old days and comparing Immortal challenges they'd faced since they last saw each other. Batman and Superman, chatting it up over drinks at the Fortress of Solitude while Robin goes on a milk run. With a sigh he started the engine and began to make his way back to the barge. _You'd think by now I'd be used to it,_ he thought. He was always the trusty sidekick instead of the hero. Standing by to offer his support while Mac was the one to save the day, kill the bad guy and get the girl.

_Face it, Ryan, as long as you're with MacLeod you're always gonna be in his shadow. Not to mention, when things get weird around him you usually end up on the business end of his sword. When Garrick was messing with Mac's head, you almost lost yours. When he took the Dark Quickening last year if it hadn't been for Joe, again you'd have ended up several inches shorter. You know what they say, third time's the charm. If you're smart, you'll just dump the stuff at the barge and take off on your bike. Spain's nice this time of year. Why should you keep sticking your neck out just so MacLeod can take a swing at it?_

_What the hell am I thinking?_ He slammed on the brakes suddenly, causing the car behind him to swerve to avoid a collision. Pulling over to the side of the road Richie stumbled out onto the pavement, a heavy weight crushing his chest, making it hard to breathe. _Meeting Mac was the best thing that ever happened to me. I'd still be a petty thief, if not dead, if it wasn't for him. And I asked to do the shopping instead of meeting Singer's plane, Mac gave me the choice._

"Mac is my friend," he said aloud to no one in particular. "He needs my help, and I AM going to stick by him." Bracing his hands on the car roof he shook his head to clear the cobwebs away. And almost as suddenly as it appeared the oppressive weight constricting his heart seemed to vanish.

Yes, without a doubt, this was a very weird day.

oooOOOooo

Stepping onto the deck of MacLeod's barge, Bobby whistled softly in amazement at the sight that greeted him. The barge was moored on the river Seine, and from its deck you could see the rear facade of the Notre Dame Cathedral with its flying buttresses and gothic spire, the arches of the Pont de la Tournelle, as well as the buildings along the left bank.

"This sure beats the hell outta my view of the scrapyard back home," he joked, turning slowly to take in the vista surrounding him.

"I can imagine," Mac laughed, and some of the fear and doubt that had been plaguing him since his encounter with Landry fell away.

"Damn straight. Next time I talk to Henri I'm gonna have to ask him if he needs another hunter in Paris. A change of scenery would probably do me good."

As he led Bobby down into the main room of the barge Duncan turned to him with a puzzled look. "Henri? You mean there are... there are people like you in Paris?"

"We're called hunters, Mac. And yeah, we're here." Bobby shrugged an affirmative. "France, Australia, India. Just about any place on the globe. I already gave Henri a call before I left home. Asked him to look into demonic omens in the area for me. I'll check in with him tomorrow, see what he came up with."

"But then... I mean," Duncan stammered, looking confused. "Why did you come yourself? Why didn't you just have your friend help me instead?"

"Because you called _me,_ asking for _my_ help." Bobby just stared at him, wondering why he had to ask. "What'd you think I was going to do, just bail on ya?"

"I wouldn't blame you if you did," Duncan replied in a barely audible whisper.

That earned him a sharp glance. "You wanna repeat that?"

"After what I did?" MacLeod raised his voice causing Bobby to flinch. "The way I treated you after Karen... Bobby, I wouldn't blame you for turning me away. You'd have every right."

Bobby again stood back and studied his friend, the look of despair on his face almost frightening the hunter. "Is that what you were worrying about last night when you should have been sleeping?"

"Think about it. You cried 'demon' and I turned my back. Now I'm the one saying it... It'd have a sense of karmic justice to it don't you think?"

"Look, Mac, I don't know where this is coming from or what's going on with you. But let's get one thing straight, I didn't just spend the last fourteen hours in airports and on planes just to come here and say

'screw you.' I didn't call anybody else because, while there are some very good hunters nearby, I don't trust anyone enough to put your safety in their hands. I'm here, and I'm seeing this through." He grasped the Highlander's shoulder. "What the hell is wrong with-?"

Bobby froze midsentence, his body going rigid as an intense vibrating sensation like an electrical current passed through him. There was another Immortal nearby. "You expecting someone?" he asked, his hand instinctively inching toward his sword.

"Hello?" a voice called out from the deck. "Mac? Can I get a hand with this?"

Bobby relaxed as he recognized the voice's owner as MacLeod's friend, Richie, that he'd talked to the day before. Mac opened the door to admit a red-haired young man, with his arms full of boxes and a length of chain coiled around his shoulders.

"There's more out in the car, and next time, Mac, you get to go on the scavenger hunt. Do you have any idea how tough it was to find some of this stuff? I had to go to these... weird stores and talk to... weird people. I think one of them, I swear to God, was a vampire. Very, very strange day." Richie seemed to notice the room's other occupant for the first time. "Hey, you must be Bobby Singer," he said offering his hand.

MacLeod smiled at the young man's eagerness. "Bobby, this is Richie Ryan, my good friend and former student."

"Good to meet you, Richie." Bobby took his hand and grinned. "Vampire huh?"

"Uh... well, I mean he looked like one. That is... if they're real... Are they real?"

Bobby's eyes flitted between Richie and the Highlander. Both of them appeared to be waiting for his answer. "Real. But I doubt the guy you saw was one. They wouldn't likely be out during the day."

"Oh... right... 'cause... sunlight." Richie did his best to cover his shock. "Listen, Mr. Singer-"

"Call me Bobby." He smiled warmly at the young Immortal. The close cropped hair and leather jacket, as well as the youthful air about him reminded Bobby of a certain other young man he'd left back in the States. "After all, we're both students of Mac's. So, in the weird, convoluted world of Immortal relations, that practically makes us family... Kinda... sorta," he added with a shrug.

Richie grinned back. As a child of the foster care system, the idea of 'family' still tugged at a corner of his heart. "Ok... Bobby. Mac and I... well, we were talking earlier and... you see... I was wondering..."

"Just spit it out, kid." Bobby recognized the look he was giving him, and had a good idea where this was headed. "Whatever it is you wanna ask, I've probably already heard it a hundred times at least."

"Werewolves," he said at last. "Real or no?"

Bobby laughed quietly. Yup, time for the hunter's version of 'The Facts of Life.' "Real. Only they don't look like they do in the movies. They're more... human looking when they shift. But they're still just as deadly."

"And silver bullets?"

"Only way to kill them."

Richie nodded, processing the information. "Aliens? The Loch Ness Monster?"

He shook his head in amusement. The boy had enthusiasm, he'd give him that. "Aliens, not real. Nessie... jury's still out."

"So... no aliens," Richie said.

"Nope. Sorry. Bigfoot's a load of crap too."

Richie stared wide-eyed at the hunter, and for a moment Bobby was worried this was all too much for him. Finally he blinked and cleared his throat. "Uh... I got a lot more of this stuff out in the car if someone could..." He gestured towards the door.

MacLeod started towards the door. "Right. Sorry Rich I'll... I'll be right out. Bobby," Mac said, turning to the hunter. "Landry's journal and some of his research notes are on the desk if you want a look. I'll be right back."

The journal was why Bobby had insisted on coming to the barge first before going on to his hotel room, so while MacLeod was bringing in the rest of the hunting supplies he started looking over what the Highlander had assembled. He'd intended to look at Landry's journal first, but his eyes fell upon a small leather notebook, its pages open to reveal a strange "V" shape contained within a double circle, the phrase "Connection to Watchers?" scribbled beneath.

"What's this?" Bobby asked, picking up the book as Mac entered the room.

"The Watcher symbol," Mac explained. "Every one of them has that tattooed on their wrist. In the beginning I thought all this had something to do with Horton's people, so I was trying to remember everything I could about my past encounters with them."

Bobby flipped through the pages and nodded. There were more notes on the case, some obviously copied from other sources, some apparently Mac's own theories. "And the rest of it?"

"Oh that's nothing." Mac shrugged. "I thought that maybe I might be able to figure things out better if I had all my thoughts written down."

Bobby gave him an appraising grin. "You know, I think I could make a halfway decent hunter outta you." At the puzzled look Duncan gave him Bobby pulled out his own battered green leather journal. "We all carry one. A place to keep track of important lore and other information as well as get your thoughts in order."

Duncan and Richie shared a look. There were several things they'd been wondering about, and Singer seemed to be in a sharing mood... "So what exactly is it you do?" Mac asked. "When you're... investigating something. How do you figure out what it is?"

"You said it right there." Bobby opened his journal and passed it over to MacLeod. "I investigate. It's kinda like being a... detective I guess. I talk to witnesses, examine evidence, check out the crime scene. Then compare everything I got to a list of suspects. Except..." He paused. "My 'usual suspects' are a bit more... exotic."

Richie suddenly pulled the journal from MacLeod's hands, looked from the pages up to Bobby then back down again. "What the heck is a rougarou?"

oooOOOooo

The rest of the day was spent in comfortable conversation. Only the barest of bones of hunting life was discusse: there would be time for that later. For now there was a decade and a half of lost time to catch up on. Bobby learned of the life, love and loss of MacLeod's mortal lover Tessa. _Thirteen years together,_ he thought_. More than three times my life with Karen._ He also learned that, indeed, Richie was as young as he'd suspected. Only a few years older than his boyish looks suggested. Only five years older than Dean. Again he felt a sense of both familiarity and protectiveness towards the newest member of his Immortal family. Richie had Mac, who in Bobby's opinion was all one could hope for in a teacher, so he didn't need his help as an Immortal. But he did need him as a hunter. He silently promised himself, as well as the two men sitting with him, that he'd do everything in his power to get them all through whatever was coming.

Over dinner thoughts of hunting lessons were completely forgotten as Bobby and MacLeod regaled Richie with tales from their past. More than once the young Immortal found himself laughing at some of his mentor's less than flattering adventures. Mac then retaliated by informing Bobby of Richie's recent escapade in Montecour.

"... So, I come around the corner and there's Richie, holding this broken bedpost that, oh, he just happens to be handcuffed to. And after going through all that to escape, he decides to go back in because-"

Bobby wiped away a tear of laughter. "Let me guess. He's got a thing for the blonde kidnapper."

"Her name is Marina. And she's not a kidnapper," Richie insisted. "It was... all just a big misunderstanding."

"Oh, absolutely," Bobby said with a knowing smirk. "Drugging somebody, chaining them up, holding them for ransom. I'm sure she didn't mean any of it."

"Well... no, she meant it, but she... it was... Mac, come one. Help me out here."

MacLeod took pity on his young friend. "There were extenuating circumstances, and everything worked out well in the end."

"Well, I guess that's all that counts." Bobby took another sip of wine. He was surprised at how relaxed he felt in spite of the reason for his visit. Seeing MacLeod again and being able to reconcile with him; it was as if the last fifteen years just melted away and they were back to the way they had been before. Just good conversation, good wine and good friends.

He should have known it wouldn't last.

Bobby knew before he heard the latch of the door open that someone was coming. The intense thrum of presence alerted him to the approach of another of their kind. Turning in his seat he took in the sight of the two new arrivals: the first one, an older man leaning heavily on a cane, with a silver beard and hair, Bobby judged to be only few years younger than he had been at his first death. But it was the second that drew his attention. While his youthful face and head of dark hair lacking a single gray strand showed the world a young man, his eyes told a different story. He was the source of the warning every cell in Bobby's body was screaming out_: Immortal._

Macleod tensed as if preparing to do battle. "So where are the men in white coats?"

The gray haired man shook his head sadly. "Mac-"

But Mac ignored him and instead began to make introductions. "Bobby, this is Joe Dawson and-"

"Adam Pierson," the younger looking man cut in.

MacLeod nodded to the other Immortal, an unreadable look passing between the two. "This is an old friend of mine, Bobby Singer."

"Yeah, we know who he is," Joe said, ignoring Bobby completely. "Mac, we went to see Allison Landry today."

"And?" MacLeod asked, suddenly hopeful. Allison was intelligent and well spoken, perhaps she managed to convince them the way she had him. "What did she say?"

"Nothing." Joe stared sadly at MacLeod. "Allison's dead."

MacLeod felt as if a lead weight dropped onto his chest. "Dead?"

"The police believe it was arson." Adam shifted his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably. "Late last night someone set fire to the building." He shared a worried look with Joe before continuing. "A man was seen leaving the scene. Tall, with dark hair pulled in a ponytail."

The room was silent as all present looked toward MacLeod for comment, but it was Richie who spoke first. "No way, guys. Mac had nothing to do with that."

Joe shook his head slowly and closed his eyes. "Richie, you think I don't want to believe that? But you have to understand-"

"I do understand," Richie cut in. "This isn't just blind faith, Joe. Mac and I were together from around noon yesterday to a little after eight this morning. He never had the chance to go to her apartment. Not without me noticing."

"Why would I have killed Allison?" Duncan spoke up at last. "She was helping me. She gave me Landry's journal and some of his research notes. She was the one to make me understand what her grandfather was trying to tell me before he died."

"Are you sure that's how it happened, MacLeod?" Adam asked. "You haven't... forgotten anything about last night?"

"I didn't see her last night. I went to see Allison after I ran into you the night before last."

"You mean, after you saw Kronos?" Adam gave no indication of what he was thinking, just continued to watch MacLeod with calm interest.

Mac sighed wearily. "I saw him, I heard him. He was real!"

"Mac, please!" Joe begged. "We're your friends; we just want to help you!"

"You're not helping," Bobby said, addressing the newcomers for the first time. "You're only making this harder for him."

"No, you're the one not helping!" Joe clutched his cane so hard his whole arm shook. "Duncan MacLeod is my friend. Now, I don't know what the hell happened to you to make you like this, but I'll be damned if I'm gonna let you drag him down into your delusions about... demons and other supernatural garbage!"

"So you don't believe in the supernatural then?" Bobby closed the distance between them. "What do you think Immortals are?"

Joe glared daggers at the hunter. "That's different and you know it. Back in 'Nam I saw the sergeant of my platoon ripped apart in a hail of bullets. _After_ that happened he carried me sixteen miles to a field hospital. I've seen Immortals with my own eyes. I know they exist. What you're asking me to believe..." He shook his head.

"So you ain't gonna believe in something unless you see it for yourself, huh?" Bobby asked. "Probe the nail holes with your fingers and all that crap?"

Joe quirked his head at the Biblical reference. "I'm familiar with the 'Doubting Thomas' story. I remember it from religion class at St. Denis'. And yeah, I'm going to need some kind of hard proof before I believe there're demons running around twentieth century Paris."

Bobby nodded, and then turned his attention to Adam. "And you? If I can prove to you that demons are real you'll stand by Mac?"

Adam shifted his eyes to MacLeod, who was watching hopefully, then turned back to the hunter and nodded. "If you can show me incontrovertible evidence... I'll believe what you say."

Bobby studied the two of them for a moment, then making his decision, walked calmly to MacLeod's phone muttering under his breath. "You boys want proof, huh? Well, I'll give you proof."

The four men stood silent as Bobby dialed a number from memory. _"Henri? C'est moi, Bobby Singer._ _Comment ca va?"_ He listened patiently to the response, glancing at the group now watching his every move. "Listen Henri...I need another favor..."

TBC…


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Sorry about the long delay in updating. Where I work summertime is our busiest season (and, of course, that's when all of my co-workers decided to take their vacations *eye roll*) so I really haven't had much time to write.

Usual Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't own. Please don't sue.

My thanks to DNAchemlia for the beta. I made a few changes after I gave her this chapter, so any errors you find are entirely mine.

* * *

><p>oooOOOooo<p>

Paris in springtime. It was one of those clichés that actually had a basis in fact: as if some fairy tale spell had been broken, winter's barrenness retreated and its black and white monochrome gave way to cascades of color. Songbirds returned to the trees and flowers bloomed against the centuries-old buildings, turning the city into an enchanted realm. The cold dreariness of winter was over but the oppressive heat of summer was still a long ways off, and the city as well as its human inhabitants reveled in nature's rebirth.

But this year spring was unseasonably cold. The trees were still leafless skeletons in May and even the birds seemed to refuse to acknowledge the turning of the seasons. Cold and drizzly, a heavy fog seemed to envelop the entire city and heavy clouds that blocked out the sky gave the nights an eerie feel. This night in particular was cold enough that as two men exited a barge moored along the river Seine, their breath was visible as bursts of steam.

"What the hell did we just agree to?" Joe Dawson asked as he maneuvered himself behind the steering wheel of his Jeep Grand Cherokee, confusion and frustration obvious in his voice. Duncan MacLeod's bizarre behavior over the past few days-talking about demons and insisting James Horton was alive-had him concerned, but it was the arrival of fellow Immortal Bobby Singer that convinced Joe the Highlander was in serious trouble. Singer had apparently lost his mind twenty years ago when his wife died under mysterious circumstances and he had become obsessed with the supernatural. Joe feared the man would now drag MacLeod further down into his delusions.

Slouching in the passenger seat, Methos considered Joe's question a moment then shrugged noncommittally. "I believe... we just agreed to let Singer prove that demons really do exist."

"Right." Joe nodded as he stared blankly off into the darkness. He paused, head cocked at an angle and deep in thought before asking, "And how exactly is he planning to do that?"

"Joe, I have no idea, I'm as in the dark about all this as you are," Methos sighed wearily. He closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face. "Oh God Bobby, what in the world has happened to you?" Opening his eyes he turned to Joe with a sad expression. "He wasn't always this crazy you know."

Joe started the car and slowly made his way through the Parisian traffic toward Methos' apartment. "Yeah, I'm familiar with his older chronicles. According to them he was an upstanding citizen and family man. Then there was everything he did during World War II-"

Methos shook his head quickly. "No, I meant before then. Before he even died his first death."

"What are you talking about?" Frowning, Joe quickly stole a glance at the ancient Immortal sitting next to him. He knew Methos had millennia of knowledge over him, but MacLeod was _his_ assignment. That meant he was supposed to know everything about the Highlander, including the backgrounds of those Immortals he associated with, and Singer had once been MacLeod's student.

"I mean I knew him back then, when he was still called Whitney Ellsworth of Deadwood. In fact, I was almost his first teacher—_JOE WATCH THE ROAD!"_

Distracted by this sudden revelation Joe had taken his eyes off the road just long enough for the car to drift over the center line. His eyes snapped back to attention and he quickly jerked the wheel to the right, narrowly avoiding a collision with an oncoming taxi. "Thanks for the warning," he gasped as he struggled to calm his racing heart after the near miss. He was confused. What little he knew about Methos' past told him he tended to avoid others of his kind, and Byron was the only student Joe had ever heard about. "When the hell did all this happen?"

Methos straightened up and sighed. "I lived in Deadwood serving as one of the camp's physicians for a few months in mid- 1877 then came back in early 1878. The first time I arrived just in time for Ellsworth's wedding to the widow Alma Garret-a shotgun wedding incidentally, if the camp's gossip was to be believed."

"Shotgun?" Joe resisted an impulse to look to see if Methos was grinning at him, pleased that he'd fallen for the joke. "But he's an Immortal. There's no way the baby could've been his-"

"And, again," Methos interrupted. "According to the gossip, he knew that. Apparently the Garret woman had been having an affair with the camp's married sheriff for some time and the child was supposedly his. Ellsworth was prepared to marry her to protect her honor, claim the child as his own and raise it along with Garret's orphaned ward, Sofia. Let me tell you Joe," he shifted in his seat and leaned closer to him. "The man I knew then was nothing like the one we just left with MacLeod. He was honest and trustworthy, and despite his gruff exterior he had an exceptionally kind heart. Even the whores loved him, and I don't mean in _'that way'_ either. I had intended to stay in camp as long as necessary to keep my eye on him in the event he... well, you know."

"But... he looked at you like he'd never seen you before." He slowly shook his head in disbelief. "My God, is he really that far gone that he's forgotten about you?"

"Well, I have to say in his defense that there's very little reason he would remember me. He wasn't fully Immortal yet and I looked a bit different. Longer hair, beard, slightly different accent... plus I was calling myself Dr. Matthew Adams at the time."

Joe chuckled. "'Matthew Adams' huh? What happened to Benjamin Adams?" he asked, still adjusting to the idea that Byron's hedonistic, laudanum addicted teacher and his longtime friend were one and the same.

Wincing, Methos gave a curt answer. "Yes, well... Benjamin wasn't really a safe name for me at that time." Off Joe's questioning look he grudgingly elaborated. "There was a bit of a... a misunderstanding involving the McQuarry brothers, a shipment of gold and a posse. The story's not really that important at the moment." He waved a dismissive hand in the air, indicating he had no intention of giving up that much of his past.

"But it's a story you are going to tell me later. Right?" Joe snorted. No way was he letting the old man off the hook.

"Right, sure, later."

They rode in silence for several blocks before Joe's curiosity got the best of him. "So? What happened with Singer in Deadwood?"

Methos looked off into the distance, lost in his memories of the past. "It all began when I answered an ad looking for a new doctor in the _New York Times_..."

TBC...

oooOOOooo

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><p>AN 2: Yes, I will be telling the "Methos Goes to Deadwood" story, but it will be as a separate fic, entitled _Into the West_. Be advised: if you want to read that story it won't be listed under Supernatural crossovers since it takes place a century before Bobby becomes a hunter. It will be listed as a Highlander/Deadwood x-over and will most likely be rated "M" for profanity and offensive language. Try as I might I just can't get Al Swearengen, Trixie or Mr. Wu to clean up their acts.

If you want to know about Methos' Old West adventures with the McQuarry brothers, pick up a copy of _Highlander: An Evening at Joe's._ The story is part of the "Postcards From Alexa" section.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: This chapter borrows dialog and situations from the Highlander episode "Archangel" written by David Tynan. No copyright infringement intended.

Thanks as usual to dnachemlia for the beta.

* * *

><p>oooOOOooo<p>

Alone. That word had never bothered MacLeod before. Heaven knows he'd spent enough of his life alone to get used to it. There were the three years he was alone in the Highlands after being banished from his clan, the time he'd spent traveling after leaving Connor, and the decade he spent alone on his island, healing after the loss of Little Deer and Kahani.

But alone felt different this time. Methos and Joe had left after reluctantly agreeing to let Bobby provide proof of the existence of demons, though how he planned to do that Mac couldn't even begin to imagine. Bobby had gone off to meet his French hunter friend to prepare whatever it was they were planning, and Richie had gone back to his apartment for a change of clothes and a few other necessities. That left Mac alone for the first time since he'd reached out to Bobby; the first time since he'd accepted that all of this was real. He felt exposed and very, very vulnerable.

Deciding that a drink might help him relax he walked to the bar and poured out a small amount of scotch into his glass. _Not too much,_ he cautioned himself. _Enough to calm your nerves, but not enough to dull your reflexes. _Raising the glass to his lips he stopped suddenly when he heard a voice call out behind him.

"Had a hard day?" Mac spun in place to find Allison Landry lying on his bed, dressed seductively in a black negligee. "Join me," she purred.

"Allison, what are you-?" Joe's earlier words echoed in MacLeod's mind. _Allison's dead._ "You can't be here."

She stood and slowly slinked toward him. "No? Why not?"

Duncan continued to stare at her, his heart hammering in his chest. _She's not real. She can't be real,_ he kept telling himself. The phone rang suddenly, startling him out of his daze. Just for a moment he took his eyes off her and picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Is it because I'm dead?" Allison's voice laughed through the phone. "You should know, you're the one who killed me." Duncan snapped his head up to find the room empty once more. "Now you see me, now you don't."

_Get a grip, MacLeod._ He turned slowly in place, his eyes scanning every nook and cranny of the barge, but found no one. _You're just tired; your mind is playing tricks on you._ Once more he brought the glass up to his mouth, this time downing nearly all of it in one gulp.

"Guess who?" Suddenly, Allison's hands were over his eyes. Reflexively he pushed her away, sending her sprawling to the floor. "Is that anyway to treat a lady?" she demanded. "Are you going to kill me again?"

"What?"

Ignoring his confusion she continued. "Why'd you burn my apartment?"

"I didn't." _This isn't happening. This CAN'T be happening._

"Don't you remember? You came over and you wanted all my grandfather's books and papers, and I wouldn't give them to you, so you burned the place down."

"It didn't happen." He pushed at her again and suddenly realized he could touch her. _Think. What did Bobby say about ghosts? _He racked his brain, trying to remember what the hunter had told him about to repel a spirit, but Allison kept coming at him, distracting him from any thought other than to get away.

"The police think it did. After all, you were seen leaving. You're such a striking figure with your broad shoulders and silky long hair." She laughed menacingly as she reached up to touch him again.

"It didn't happen!" Distracted by Allison Duncan didn't notice the presence of another Immortal until it was directly upon him. Until he saw the figure draw up behind Allison, his arm raised in position to strike. Fumbling, Duncan reached for his katana, which was still in the hidden pocket of his coat lying across the chair. As quickly as he could he pulled it out, but he was not quick enough. As he was still bringing the blade up into a defensive position he saw the figure's arm begin its deadly descent...

Slicing through Allison, causing the image of her to dissolve into red-tinged smoke before disappearing completely, revealing Bobby standing behind her.

"Mac! Are you okay?" Bobby asked as he rushed to his side, grasping the stunned Highlander by his shoulders. "MacLeod!"

"I'm fine," he answered finally, shaken out of his stunned silence. Duncan glanced at his friend's hand, noticing for the first time that it held, not his sword, but the black and silver cane he'd had with him at the airport. Duncan nodded to the spot where Allison had stood only moments before. "That... that was..."

"Allison Landry," Bobby finished for him. "Well, at least that's one question answered." Off Duncan's confused look he elaborated. "That was a ghost. A demon would be a lot harder to get rid of."

MacLeod nodded again, then quirked his head remembering something. "Kronos didn't dissolve like that." Now it was Bobby's turn to look confused. "A few days ago, when I saw Kronos here he disappeared before I could confront him, but it didn't look like that."

"Let me guess," Bobby ventured. "He flickered, like a light bulb about to burn out?"

"Exactly."

"That's what it looks like when they choose to disappear. When they're forced to-" He slapped the shaft of his cane against his palm for effect, "It's as a puff of smoke or mist like your lady friend there. Although... the smoke being red is new." He scratched at his beard, deep in thought until the sound of a throat clearing behind him brought him back to the present. "Oh, sorry," he apologized and gestured to the man standing behind him. "Duncan MacLeod, meet Henri Merton. I met Henri during a werewolf hunt... what was it? Eight? Nine years ago?"

"Something like that," the man agreed and smiling, reached out to offer Duncan his hand. "Robert has spoken highly of you Mr. MacLeod, I am honored to finally meet you. Though..." He waved to where the ghost of Allison had been only moments before. "I wish it were under better circumstances."

Mac took his hand and began to greet him when he stopped and the full realization of what just happened hit him. "You saw her," he said, shifting his eyes from one hunter to the other. "Both of you. You saw Allison."

Bobby sadly nodded his head. "Yeah, we saw her. We saw her ghost all dolled up in some Victoria's Secret number going after you. Now are you gonna accept the fact that you're not nuts?"

Smiling at his old friend MacLeod began to both laugh and cry at the same time.

oooOOOooo

"So this is what all the salt was for." Richie had arrived a short time after Allison's ghost had been banished-for the time being at least- and the four of them began the process of 'supernatural proofing' the barge. MacLeod and Henri were outside securing the iron chain around the exterior of the barge's skylight and painting warding symbols discreetly on its hull while Richie lined every door, window and air duct with salt.

"Yup." Bobby looked up from where he was kneeling painting a large devil's trap on the floor. "From Japanese culture to the Abrahamic faiths salt is a symbol of purity. It'll repel demons and ghosts, as well as a handful of other things you'd rather not have in your house. Same thing with iron."

"What about holy water?"

"It affects demons kinda like acid. It'll hurt them and might drive them away temporarily, but unless you plan on living in a fountain of the stuff you need a backup plan."

Richie thought for a moment. "Still, maybe we should head to a church and pick some up anyway. You said it would hurt them, right? Far as I'm concerned any weapon we can get our hands on we should use."

"Agreed," Bobby said as he stood, having finished the last symbol. "But we don't need to go anywhere to get it, I can make it myself."

Richie blinked in surprise. "You're a priest?"

Almost doubling over with laughter Bobby shook his head. "Not even close! Despite what organized religions would have you believe there are a lot of rituals that regular people can perform," he explained. "Blessing items, making holy water, performing exorcisms-"

"Exorcisms!?" The container of salt Richie had been holding dropped to the floor, scattering white granules everywhere. "But... the exorcisms they show in movies area always so complicated. I this movie once, the priest had to do all kinds of stuff to prepare like fast, say certain prayers for a certain number of days-"

"Pretty much anything you've seen in a movie you can forget. Look, to cast out a demon all you need are two things: intent and the right words. That's it. You don't need special training or a whole lot of ritual. It's the same way with holy water." Bobby watched the young Immortal for a moment, deep in thought. _He's so eager to learn... I hope I don't regret doing this._ "Come here, let me show you something."

Richie crossed the barge, watching as Singer pulled out a gallon water jug from behind the bar and picked up one of the rosaries he'd bought earlier. "What? Are you gonna make some now?"

"Nope. I'm not. You are." He handed the shocked Immortal the rosary, then pulled his battered hunter's journal out of his pocket, opening it to the right section. "Don't suppose you ever read Latin before?"

"Yeah, I can it read a little." At Bobby's surprised look he explained. "Darius started teaching me when Tessa and I stayed with him. But I didn't keep up with it after he..."

Bobby nodded sadly. The loss of the warrior-priest had been a heavy blow to many Immortals, himself included. He'd been the one who officiated at Bobby's second marriage to Alma and the couple visited the holy man many times over their years in Paris. _Wonder where that bastard Horton's buried now?_ he pondered. _Even if he ain't the one haunting Mac I'd like to torch his bones just on principle_.

Bobby snapped back to the present; there'd be time for revenge once the job was over. "All right then." He pointed at the verse he'd scribbled on the page so many years ago. "Can you read this?" Richie nodded. "OK, hold the rosary over the water, and focus. Think about how much you want to send this son of a bitch back to Hell. Then when you're ready start reading."

Richie closed his eyes and a look of intense concentration crossed his face. After a few moments he opened his eyes and began reading from the journal. _"Exorcizo te, creatura aquae, in nomine Dei Patris omnipotentis."_

Bobby smiled_. Darius did a good job instructing the kid. Wish the old guy were still around._ "Good. Now drop the rosary in the water."

Richie did as he was told, and watched as the glass beads sank to the bottom of the jug. "OK, now what?"

"Now nothin'. You're done."

"I'm done? You mean that's it?"

"What's 'it?'" MacLeod asked as he and Henri, having finished their tasks on the exterior of the barge, entered the room.

Richie beamed at Mac and held up the jug like a kindergartener showing off his latest art project. "I made a gallon of holy water!"

"You... you what?"

"Yeah, Bobby taught me. And it was so easy, just ten words in Latin and some rosary beads." He handed the container to his old teacher for inspection. "Check it out Mac, my first job as a hunter."

"Your 'first' huh?" Mac sent Bobby a suspicious glare to which the other man just shrugged.

"Technically layin' the salt lines was his first. But Richie has a right to feel proud. Not many first timers can handle the Latin without stumbling at least once." Bobby closed his journal with a snap, almost challenging Mac to say something. "Darius was a good teacher for him to be able to say the verse so well, even after all these years."

MacLeod stood arms crossed over his chest and regarded his two former students for a moment. He had an inkling of what was going on in both their minds and wasn't sure he liked it. Richie was so young, even in mortal terms. Mac knew he was searching for something, some cause or philosophy to give his life purpose. It would be so easy for someone to sway him into their way of thinking. Like the way the false Methos had almost convinced him to give up the sword, a move that nearly cost Richie his head. MacLeod did not want him in that position again.

On the other hand, Bobby was a natural with young people. Mac had realized that at the very beginning of their time together. He'd seen it in that little town in the Washington Territory they'd settled in in 1882. The way the former prospector would interact with the children, taking the boys hunting and fishing and playing checkers or 'Cat's Cradle' with the girls. During World War II Bobby had taken in many child evacuees from air raid threatened cities into his home in the English countryside, as well as refugees smuggled out from behind Nazi lines. The man had shown again and again both his talent for guiding the young as well as his willingness to go above and beyond to protect those he took under his wing. Mac knew that if he took on Richie as a student Bobby would do whatever was necessary to make sure he stayed safe until he was ready to be on his own.

"Well, Richie's always been smart... when he applied himself." MacLeod smiled proudly at the young redhead. "Did you know... within his first day of lessons he was able to disarm me? Richie faced his first challenger only a few weeks after becoming Immortal-Annie Devlin."

Bobby winced at the thought. "Talk about baptism by fire. Annie's a regular force of nature when she's riled up. Hold on a sec," he said, frowning in confusion. "Annie's still alive. And Richie's still alive, so...?"

"I won," Richie said slowly. "But I couldn't do it. I just... I couldn't kill her. Even now, despite my brief career as a headhunter, I still hate it, the killing to live. I wish I didn't have to do it at all."

"Well, you can always take vows and live on holy ground for centuries." Mac said, trying to lighten the mood. He grinned at Richie, knowing full well there was no way he'd ever go for that.

Sure enough, Richie snorted at the very thought. "Oh yeah, right. Live for centuries without women? No thanks, I'd rather risk losing my head!"

oooOOOooo

"How many should we expect for tomorrow's... demonstration?" Henri sat next to Bobby, perched on a bench across from the desk where Mac and Richie were still studying Jason Landry's notes. After finishing warding the barge the two hunters explained their plan for 'proving' the reality of demons the next morning, an explanation that left Mac and Richie speechless.

"Besides Richie and MacLeod there'll be two others," Bobby answered. "Joe Dawson and Adam Pierson. They're friends of Mac's that need convincing." For a split second Henri's eyes went wide then he quickly recovered, but not quick enough for Bobby to miss. "You know them?"

"That depends," Henri said somewhat haltingly. "This Joe Dawson, is he by any chance a blues singer?"

"Yes, he is." Mac said, finally finding his voice. He smiled, proud of Joe's success. "He just finished up a European tour."

Henri nodded with a slight smile. "Then yes, I've heard of him. I had the pleasure of seeing him perform last month in Ghent, Belgium. Your friend is really quite talented."

"You'll get no argument from me."

As the two chatted about music Bobby continued to watch Henri out of the corner of his eye. While the explanation for his reaction to Joe's name was completely plausible, something in Bobby's gut told him there was more to it than that. His friend seemed tense all of a sudden. True, he hid it well. But there were subtle tells, such as the way he was nervously rubbing his left wrist. Whatever was bothering the French hunter, Bobby hoped it wouldn't affect his ability to do the job. What they were about to do was risky enough, bringing civilians into a situation like that. But adding a distracted hunter into the mix was a recipe for disaster.

"You know Robert," Henri said, interrupting his thoughts. "When you said a friend of yours was having a demon problem, I assumed you meant possession."

"If it was that simple I could have handled it myself." Bobby shook his head. "No, I'm thinkin' it's gotta be some kind of oppression."

Henri's eyebrows shot up at that. "You don't often hear of that happening. Why would the demon even bother?"

"No idea. Maybe it needs Mac to be able to consent to something; maybe it can't possess him." Bobby spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "Hell, maybe this thing just gets off on it."

Richie raised his hand as if in a classroom. "Excuse me?" he interrupted. "Oppression? What exactly is that?"

"Second level of demonic activity." At the questioning looks he was getting from his companions Bobby elaborated. "Demonic activity is categorized into three levels. The most minor is infestation. Strange sounds mostly- knocks, whispers, that sort of thing. Usually it's just their way of having a little fun. Mess with folks minds and create minor havoc before moving on. The worst level is possession. I'm sure you both know what that means."

MacLeod shuddered slightly and nodded. "And oppression?"

"One step below possession. The demon tries to break a person down. They'll cause hallucinations, nightmares, try to alienate them from family and friends..." Bobby raised his eyebrows as he shot Mac a meaningful look. "Sounding familiar yet?"

MacLeod and Richie traded looks, then the young redhead nodded. "Yeah, it does. So, these levels are sort of like the different 'kinds' of close encounters with aliens?" he asked.

"Exactly. Only those-"

"Aren't real. Yeah, I remember." Richie walked around to the front of Mac's desk and sat on the edge, facing the hunters. "So... demons. I know salt and iron repels them, and holy water hurts them. What else do you have in your bag of tricks?"

Bobby grinned slightly. _It would be so easy,_ he thought. _Provided Mac doesn't try to kill me first._ "Devils traps," he said pointing to the symbol painted on the barge's floor. "They're like roach motels for demons. They can get in but not out. Best way to keep them in one place without hurting the body when you're exorcising them."

"Why is it important not to hurt them?" Mac sat forward, leaning his elbows on the desk's surface. "They're demons, what difference does it make if they get hurt?"

"Well, for the demons it doesn't," Bobby replied. "They're a lot like us in that regard: you can shoot 'em, stab 'em, drop them off a cliff and they keep coming back. It's the poor bastard they're possessing you gotta be careful for."

"Demons themselves have no physical form," Henri said picking up the explanation. "In order to affect anything on this plane they require a host. Once possessed the host becomes a prisoner in their own mind, seeing, hearing and feeling everything the demon does but unable to control their own body."

Richie and MacLeod both looked as if they were going to be sick. Taking a deep breath Mac asked, "OK, I get it now. So what exactly happens during the exorcism?"

Bobby sighed. As he began describing the ritual he thought to himself that this was going to be a very long night.

oooOOOooo

"Listen," Mac began. "I'm sorry about...you know. Earlier. The waterworks. I have no idea where that came from." After Henri left he and Bobby had moved out onto the deck of the barge and were just sitting there, looking out over the water and sharing a bottle of whiskey.

"I do," Bobby responded, passing the bottle back to MacLeod. "That first year after I found out about demons I thought I was going insane too. I don't know how many times I actually hoped someone would come along and challenge me. I probably would have offered my head to the first Immortal I met. At least you're getting a gentle intro to the supernatural."

"Gentle!?" Mac exclaimed. "You call this gentle!?"

"Yeah," Bobby said sadly. "You don't have the blood of someone you love on your hands, do you?"

He grew solemn as he looked at his friend, understanding now what Bobby had been going through at the time, while he'd done nothing to help. "Bobby, I'm so sorry. If only I'd known..."

"If only _I'd _known Karen might still be alive," Bobby said, almost whispering. "If only I'd known that things like demons were real. If only I'd known that a little holy water and four verses of Latin could've saved her. If only." They sat in silence for several long minutes before Bobby spoke again. "Listen Mac, you gotta watch out for the kid."

"Richie? What, you think this thing will go after him?" MacLeod felt his heart skip a beat. Of all his former students he felt the strongest connection to Richie, possibly because he'd taken him in while he was still a young mortal. He had been part of his life with Tessa, at times almost making them feel like a real family. If Richie was in danger because of him...

"Possibly," Bobby admitted, interrupting his thoughts. "But I'm more concerned about what he might do." He grinned and shook his head. "I got a young idjit just like him back home: too smart for his own good and instincts that are almost preternatural at times. And if Richie is anything like Dean he'll tend to act first, think later."

Mac nodded. Yes, that did sound like the Richie Ryan he knew. "I'll do my best to keep him in line, but I'm not making any promises." He sighed deeply and looked up into the night sky. "You want to train him as a hunter." It wasn't a question.

Bobby said nothing at first; he just took another swig from the bottle and continued to watch the clouds play across the almost full moon before finally speaking up. "Sorry if I'm horning in on your territory. With the kid I mean," he clarified when MacLeod gave him a puzzled look.

"Bobby, I'm not Richie's owner, father or even his teacher anymore for that matter. What he does with his life is up to him."

"Maybe," Bobby admitted, "but he's still young and right now you're the biggest influence in that boy's life." Shaking his head he set the bottle down between them and turned to face the Highlander. "Mac, I wouldn't wish the hunting life on most people. It's hard, dangerous, you don't get paid... Hell, half the time you don't even get thanked. But you do get the chance to make an honest-to-God difference in the world and that's sayin' something. You're right, I do wanna train him. Like you said, the kid's smart and he learns fast. But more importantly he's got good instincts, and that's not something that can be taught, it's something you're born with. With a little training he could be a great hunter... and save who knows how many people." The sound of footsteps alerted him to Richie's approach and he looked over his shoulder. "Well speak of the devil," Bobby remarked, then seeing the glare MacLeod was giving him he added, "Sorry, poor choice of words."

"You can say that again," MacLeod muttered under his breath.

"Hey guys," Richie said as he sat down on the deck next to MacLeod. "Bobby, if you want to spend the night you can take the sofa and I'll sleep on the floor."

Bobby thought for a moment, and then tilted his head slightly. "Well, I was originally planning on headin' back to the hotel, but I'll stick around if it's OK with the both of you."

"We'll be a little cramped for space, but it's fine with me," Mac said with a slight smile. "I'm sure facing ghosts and demons is enough to make anyone reluctant to spend the night alone."

Bobby shook his head. "Nah, it ain't that. I've faced way worse than that before. It's just that we need to head out pretty early tomorrow morning, and by the time I got to the hotel it'd almost be time to come back. Makes more sense just to stay."

Mac gave a slight nod, glad his friend was able to think logically in the face of everything that was going on. "Bobby? What do you think is going to happen tomorrow?" He frowned, and then swallowed hard, not sure he wanted the answer.

"I thought Henri and I explained everything to you?" Bobby stared at MacLeod in confusion.

"No. No, I don't mean about... about that." Mac grimaced at the thought of what they would be doing the next day. "I mean with Adam and Joe. What do you think they're going to do?"

"I don't know Mac. I wish I could tell you how they're gonna handle it," Bobby said slowly. "But one thing's for sure. Whether they bail or decide to stand by you, they'll never doubt you again."

oooOOOooo

TBC...


End file.
